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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28555662">This is Why We Fight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryPie9/pseuds/CherryPie9'>CherryPie9</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, M/M, Song fic, a complete overuse of commas, i write like a toddler or a 18th century overdramatic gay poet, just some s4 reflections, no beta we die like everyone in this show, season 4 jmart is so sad, there is no in between</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:35:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28555662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryPie9/pseuds/CherryPie9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow he had to go back. Had to go back to that basement that had always felt claustrophobic but lively, now it just felt empty and dead. It was too quiet down there now, Tim always the life of the party. God he missed Tim, missed Sasha, missed Jon. He missed those blasted worms too if it meant he could go back, try again, see them all one last time.</p><p>Some reflections on moments from s4</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This is Why We Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasionally_always/gifts">occasionally_always</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I'm not sure how I feel about this? I hope you all like it, I wrote half of it a while ago and it's just been sitting in my docs collecting dust. I blew off the dust, cracked it open, and finished it up. I hope it's good. It was inspired by my lovely friend who suggested I put this song on my jmart playlist and when it came up during studying I had the inspiration for this fic. To J, the fandom thanks you for your service, my grades do not. </p><p>Also, yes I know the dialogue is not what happens in canon, shhhh the author is purposefully ignoring it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Your stitches are all out  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but your scars are healing wrong  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And the helium balloon inside your room has come undone </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And it’s pushing up at the ceiling </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And the flickering lights it cannot get beyond” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Martin sat in the white walled hospital chair in silence. The beeping of the monitors his only companion in his vigil over the small frame of the man in the bed. It had been 2 weeks since the unknowing, 2 weeks since Martin’s life had come crashing down around him once and for all. He was the only one left. Sasha gone with not even memories to reminisce on, Tim dead taken down by his own revenge soaked anger, and Jon asleep or dead in this hospital bed. The difference didn’t matter much anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Martin knows where he should be right now, where he should have been every day these past two weeks. His mother was in the very same building that he was in, having taken ill on the same day as the unknowing, some kind of sick cosmic joke the universe had decided to play on him. He knows that is where he should be, by her side watching over her but something inside him can’t bear to be away from Jon’s side. He’d called in sick to work for 2 weeks now saying he had to take care of his mother and he’d only visited her twice. </p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow he had to go back. Had to go back to that basement that had always felt claustrophobic but lively, now it just felt empty and dead. It was too quiet down there now, Tim always the life of the party. God he missed Tim, missed Sasha, missed Jon. He missed those blasted worms too if it meant he could go back, try again, see them all one last time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh everyone takes turns </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now it's yours to play the part </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And they're sitting all around you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Holding copies of your chart </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And the misery inside their eyes is  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Synchronized and reflecting into yours” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Georgie stops by around lunch time. She’s there with Martin once or twice a week. They don’t talk, she just gives him a sad smile when she walks in and they sit there in silence. Neither one of them wants to be alone. She gets up after about an hour and asks gently what Martin wants anything to eat. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Martin tells her and so she leaves to the cafe downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>She’ll probably grab him a sandwich because she knows he likes those. Some days he goes and gets her lunch, some days she gets him lunch. Georgie knows today is rough, she knows that tomorrow he has to go back to the institute so she offers the comfort today. There have been days where she couldn’t get out of that uncomfortable plastic chair, days where if she focused her eyes back in on the world she would start crying. Those were the times when Martin got up and grabbed her a cup of tea and a salad from downstairs. Sometimes they would split a cookie both of them loved an oatmeal raisin cookie. This was their almost friendship, silence and grief and comfort and cookies. It was good enough for them right now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hold on  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One more time with feeling </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Try it again, breathing’s just a rhythm </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Say it in your mind until you know that words are right  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This is why we fight” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When the sky starts getting dim outside, hours after Georgie laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder and told him she had to leave, Martin rises from his chair. He crosses the cramped room filled with whirling machines and bright lights. If Jon had been conscious, Martin knows that the sounds and noises and lights and smells would have caused him to grimace and his fingers would be anxiously tapping on his thumb. It was his reaction to any overstimulation of his senses, Martin had noticed from over the years how often it happened.</p><p> </p><p>In those instances Tim normally quieted down and Sasha would wordlessly dim the archive lights. It always made Martin feel a little bit out of place. The three of them had known each other so long and knew these simple things to alleviate pain and provide comfort. Now, Martin is the only one left to remember how to brew a cup of tea and dim the fluorescent bulbs. It’s difficult to mourn but even more difficult to do it alone.  </p><p> </p><p>When Martin reached his bedside, he stretched his hand out. He knew Jon didn’t like to be touched by anyone he didn’t trust and while Martin thought that Jon trusted him, he knew that right now was not the time to reach out and grab his hand. Not while he lay so small and fragile, so exposed and vulnerable. So instead, he grabbed the hospital blanket and tucked him in, careful to not disrupt any of the many wires sticking out of him. </p><p> </p><p>Jon looked almost peaceful, if he ignored all of the scars and how little weight he had. It was the most relaxed Martin has seen his face in years. Perhaps that should worry him, make him realize how much their time at the institute had damaged them, but he was too tired. Right now, he just wanted to spend as much time as he could memorizing his tranquil face. </p><p> </p><p>He stands there for a moment longer, lingering, drawing out the rapidly concluding time he has here. Finally when he realizes he can stay in limbo here no longer, he speaks. </p><p> </p><p>“Jon, I’ve come here every day for 2 weeks. I’ve sat here for hours by your bed. I’ve waited for you for so long and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. It’s hard now, Jon, everyone is gone and I am alone and,” his voice breaks, “I miss you, I miss you so much. Jon, please come back to me, I will be here always waiting for you, just please don’t make me wait forever.” He whispers the last bit. He suddenly feels foolish for speaking to someone who can’t hear him. Walking to the door, he wipes the tears from his eyes although in a hospital no one pays attention much to the crying man. </p><p> </p><p>He reaches the door and turns around. With one last burst of confidence he says “I love you, Jon,” and then disappears into the crowded hallway. </p><p> </p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You thought by now you’d be </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So much better than you are  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You thought by now they’d see  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That you had come so far” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This place was cold, chilling Jon down to the bone. Or it would if Jon really felt cold anymore. He knew he should be cold in this place, it was part of the attraction of it all, a coldness that you could never get rid of and never get help with. Here there was never anyone to warm you up. </p><p> </p><p>Jon was searching, he knew Martin was here trapped in this place, the fog of the lonely clouding his judgement. He thought if he could just find Martin, he could convince him to leave.</p><p> </p><p>Jon could understand the pull of the lonely, it took the term ‘your own personal hell’ to a whole new level. He’d understood wanting to disappear for so long and not having ties to keep you back in your life. But not anymore, he had people that needed him and right now that was Martin. </p><p> </p><p>He’d been too late to help Sasha. He’d walked right into death with Tim. He could not let Martin slip away from him. Martin, who’d always bring him a cup of tea on bad days, who forgave him for his unkind words. Martin, who’d he’d never gotten to tell him that… no now was not the time. Jon had to find him first and then they could figure out everything else. </p><p> </p><p>When he saw the form standing on the beach he could have cried but he forced himself not to. He was worried that if he let his eyes cloud over with tears, that Martin would disappear, a mirage in a desert of sadness. Instead he ran, stopping a few feet from the back of the man sitting on the sand in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello Jon”</p><p> </p><p>The voice was lifeless and cold and this time Jon could feel it. This time it cut him to his core and he vowed vengeance on every person who had drained the life out of Martin. </p><p> </p><p>“Martin-” Jon didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what would bring him back. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I’m not running anymore. I’m too tired to keep fighting.”</p><p> </p><p>It broke his heart more than anything else. Jon was running on empty and had been for the better part of his life. He couldn’t afford to lose Martin now. </p><p> </p><p>“Please Martin,” and he wasn’t above begging. This is what you do when you’re time runs out and you have no plans left, “Please just come here, please turn around and just look at me. Please just let me have this.”</p><p> </p><p>Martin hesitates for a minute and then exhales, his whole body deflating as he slowly turns around even after all of this he can’t stand hurting Jon. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at me,” Jon stands before him, “Look and tell me what you see.”</p><p> </p><p>The world holds its breath.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “And the pride inside their eyes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Would synchronized into a love you've never known </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So much more than you've been shown” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I see you” </p><p> </p><p>And he did maybe for the first time. He saw it all for the first time in his life he saw Jon looking at him with nothing but love. It struck him in ways that he thought Peter Lukas had taken a long time ago. Maybe it was his death that loosened the grip or maybe Jon and Martin had fought through it all alone. In the end it didn’t really matter. </p><p> </p><p>Jon was looking at him with watering eyes, finally allowing his sight to blur knowing that Martin was here and very very real. Martin saw him, the skinny frame and baggy clothes and hair haphazardly thrown back in a bun, strands escaping all around his face. He saw the months they were apart all at once, and suddenly he can’t remember the last time he really Saw Jon. </p><p> </p><p>Most of all he saw love, something that no one had looked at him with maybe his whole life. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw love in someone’s eyes when they looked at him although in hindsight, if he had looked at Jon once since the Unknowing maybe he would have realized he was loved all along. Maybe if he had taken Jon’s offer and left the institute this could have been the last thing either of them saw. But he didn’t and Jon didn’t and they were here right now, looking at each other’s eyes through tear streaked faces. A moment suspended in time in a land divorced from reality. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, let’s go home”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hold on  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One more time with feeling  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Try it again, breathing’s just a rhythm </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Say it in you mind, until you know the  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Words are right  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This is why we fight  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This is why we fight” </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The bed was warm, Jon always ran warm, a little thermal reactor in a travel sized package. Martin couldn’t be happier for something to drive away the lingering fog. The coldness didn’t want to get anywhere near the heat. The lonely didn’t want to get anywhere near The Eye especially after the death of its avatar. </p><p> </p><p>Martin inhaled the musty air of the bedroom in the scottish countryside. This was not home but Martin wasn’t sure he had one of those anymore. Wasn’t sure if there was anywhere left for him. </p><p> </p><p>He was thinking about that, not having a home and not belonging anywhere, when he felt a light squeeze of the hand in his. He squeezed gently back and smiled. The smile felt alien to his body. Relearning how to function was not going to be an easy task but this was the beginning of healing. </p><p> </p><p>He realized he did belong. He did have a place in this world and maybe it was small and maybe to others it wouldn’t look like much but the man by his side would fight anyone who told him he didn’t belong right here, hand in hand. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you” </p><p> </p><p>3 light hand squeezes and he finally got his answer to the four words he said oh so long ago. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you too”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you think! I did leave some *symbolism* in there so if you want to talk about anything you see in the comments please feel free too. I'd love to see if people picked up on some of the more subtle things.</p><p>If you like this, I'm also writing a multi chapter fic that is,,, in no way similar to this one in writing style or content but check it out if you'd like! </p><p>I hope you all are doing well and are enjoying this new year. Love you all, stay safe.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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